


Ghosted

by smolalienbee



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Accidental summoning, Alternate Universe - Human, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awkward Conversations, Aziraphale Has Many Eyes (Good Omens), Brief mentions of masturbation, Comedy, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dick Pics, Drinking, FFS (Feral Fandom Saturdays), First Kiss, Ghost Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Includes visual art, Late Night Conversations, No Smut, Nudity, Other, They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), am i a monsterfucker if i wanna get it on with a ghost - crowley probably, brief mention of crowley chatting up a random guy on grindr, crack taken far too seriously, ghostblocked, rated M for nudes nuts and dicks, spiritual awakening of crowley’s dick (literally), summon cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolalienbee/pseuds/smolalienbee
Summary: Crowley, looking to have a casually naughty evening, ends up summoning more than he expected.(what was only meant to be a crackfic, but ended up taking far too many twists and turns along the way)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 91
Collections: FFS (Feral Fandom Saturdays)





	Ghosted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevdrag (seventhe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/gifts), [orderlyhouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlyhouse/gifts).



> I... don't have anything to say about this. Once again, I blame the feral server for my cwimes - someone posted a link to [this tumblr post](https://pauladeen-vevo.tumblr.com/post/634741644264128513/concept-nudes-that-capture-evidence-of-paranormal) in the server and then i said "ok but I kinda wanna write this" and now, over 4k words later, here we are. Do I regret it? Probably not! Should I have done it? Who knows! Anyway have fun! And (as usual) huge thank you to Linden (under-a-linden-tree) for beta-ing this mess of a fic
> 
> UPDATE: the fic now includes amazing art by Sev (sevdrag) who went absolutely feral and drew both Crowley's butt as well as Aziraphale whom I love very much. FYI, the art depicts both naked Crowley as well as Aziraphale's many eyes
> 
> UPDATE 2 The Updatening: I've been recently made aware that no, you can't send pics on Tinder (can you tell I've never used a dating app?) and so I've updated the fic to reflect (so Crowley's now using Grindr, instead). In other news - uh. There is now a sequel in the works. You're welcome?

Tonight, as far as Crowley is aware, is a perfectly normal night. He’s got a glass of wine in one hand, his phone in the other and he’s casually chatting up a guy on Grindr. The conversation is going well so far- he’s sure they’re both in it just for that one night, a couple of nudes, a mutual wank and nothing more (Crowley certainly can’t be bothered to change and go meet up with anyone, not tonight- his hand will do just fine). Spreading out his legs, he gets more comfortable on the sofa and bites his lip as he looks over the first pictures he’s received. It’s about time he gets to work as well and so he begins to undress, eager to show off as much as possible. Once the clothes are off, only his socks left on his feet and boxers pooled at his ankles, he lifts his hand and tries to take some pictures. Once he’s done, he takes a look at them and groans in frustration when he realizes the lighting is all wrong. Time to think, Crowley. He jumps to his feet (and hurriedly pulls up his boxers before he has a chance to trip over them) and does the first thing that comes to mind - turn off the light. The moon is shining through the window and Crowley hopes it will make for better lighting than the bright lamp above his head. And so, he gives that a try- though it’s not long before he realizes this isn’t the best solution, either.

“Oh, bloody- bugger it all,” he mutters to himself as he angles the phone. Even by the window, there’s not enough light.

He’s gotta figure out something else. It’s not like he has a flashlight on hand… he begins to rummage through the drawers until finally he stumbles upon a box of candles. Ha! This will do. This /has/ to do, he’d rather not keep the guy waiting much longer.

So he begins the set up. A circle of candles on the floor - and he must look ridiculous, shirtless, in his boxers, his dick nearly hanging out, but he doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone else will see him stumbling around in the dark like this. What matters is the lighting and he’s sure he can work with this setup.

Before long, he’s standing in the circle of candles, butt naked now and with his phone in hand. He angles his phone once again and this time and it seems like the lighting really is just right, accentuating all the right places while letting all the less appealing places remain hidden in the shadow.

He doesn’t bother to look too closely at the picture before he sends it off, satisfied with his own work. The response comes in almost no time at all and- well, Crowley couldn’t have expected it.

 _“what the fuck man why is there someone there with u. not funny. blocked”_ reads the message. Crowley raises his eyebrows, mulling over the words for a moment.

“What the hell is he on about?” he mutters to himself as he pulls up the picture again. This time he decides to take a closer look at it and-

“GYAH!” he cries, bolting forward. His feet barely miss the candles.

There, on the picture, right behind him is- a shape. A human-like shape, light grey and bright in the dark room, somehow brighter than the candles standing on the floor. There’s a circle around the shape’s head (almost like a halo, Crowley thinks) and it… it seems as if it’s looking at him. Or, more specifically, at his arse.

“What the fuck?” Crowley whips around to check behind him and, to his surprise, what he sees matches exactly what’s in the picture. His phone slips out of his hand and falls to the floor.

“Oh dear. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“AhAHH- stop looking at my dick!” Crowley doesn’t know what to do with his hands and which part of his body to cover. He flaps them uselessly at first before he scrambles to cover his crotch. The person (the creature? The shape?) blinks at him and- did their eyes just flicker between his crotch and his face?

“My dear boy. I’m not here to… look at your dick. Besides, you must’ve called me here for a reason,” they- he- they tilt their head. Crowley stares at them blankly.

“C- called you?” he croaks out.

“Yes. The candles?” The shape gestures towards the circle and then looks at him expectantly (or, at least, Crowley assumes that they’re looking - he’s still struggling to tell apart all his body parts and the eyes- there are more eyes than a human should have, he’s quite certain).

“The… candles,” Crowley repeats dumbly.

“Obviously you’ve summoned me here.”

“What? No!” he protests, taking a step back. “I was just trying to get good lighting on my nuts! That’s it!”

“Oh.” Are they… disappointed? They sound disappointed. It’s either that or Crowley has fallen and hit his head on something. Yes, that must be it. “Well. I’m here already. What miracles may I grant you today?”

Crowley lets out a long, resigned sigh. He’s still cradling his balls and there’s a- a ghost or something in front of him and his entire night has gone completely off the rails. “Can you make me forget any of this even happened?”

“You-” the shape starts, but then trails off and never finishes the sentence. There’s a gust of gentle wind and Crowley shivers as suddenly he feels not just the cold, but also an overwhelming… sadness. Melancholy. This can’t be happening. “Is that what you really want, dear?” the shape asks quietly.

“I-” Crowley sways on his feet. Why is he even reconsidering this? There’s just- the air is so heavy, all of a sudden and he feels… _bad_. It’s not even because he’s cold and naked and, frankly, scared, it’s not that kind of bad. It’s the empathetic kind of bad- he feels bad for this ghost standing in the room with him who sounds so lonely and disappointed. “...no. I- fuck. No, I guess not, I just- okay, maybe- er- um- how about some clothes instead?”

At that, the shape lights up in what Crowley can only assume to be happiness. They lift an arm-like limb and snap their almost-fingers. In a blink of an eye, Crowley sees that they’re now holding a set of folded up clothes. Are they holding them? Or are the clothes just- levitating above their pale arms? He can’t really tell.

“Uh- thanks,” he mumbles, reaching to take the clothes from them. They’re not his clothes, he can tell immediately, but he doesn’t comment on it. There are some loose, dark pants and a soft beige jumper. Nothing that he’d ever wear around another person, but it’s not like whatever-they-are is a person. Or, well. Crowley doesn’t _think_ they are.

“They, ah- they look very nice, dear,” he hears the shape’s voice as he pulls up his newly created boxers.

“Nhhh- what?”

“Your… nuts. They look very nice, I think. You’re very attractive!”

“NGK- you- nye-” Crowley lets out a series of confused consonants. His face is bright red, now, and he hurries even more to pull the boxers all the way up and cover all his private areas. “Do you say that to everyone who summons you?!”

“Ah, well-” the shape looks away from him and folds their hands in front of themself. Their light dims, just a bit. “No one’s actually summoned me before, but... I suppose the answer to your question would be no. I do not.”

Oh, fuck. And now they’re sad again, that same cold enveloping the room as before. Crowley’s not even sure why he’s so bothered by it, but he just… he can’t stand seeing them so crestfallen. It’s even more difficult to watch now that he knows what they look like all bright and happy.

“Er- thanks. Um. Thanks. Means- I mean- ‘m flattered,” he fumbles to salvage the situation, looking up at the shape while he zips up his pants. The shape turns their many eyes back to him and smiles softly. They nod.

“Of course. I did not mean to disturb you, dear, I hope you know that.”

“Yeahhh, well- heads up would’ve been nice- maybe don’t sneak up on people from behind, too, y’know. Just- word of advice,” he shrugs, pulling the jumper over his head. “I… didn’t exactly plan for you to- show up. Not that it’s bad!” Crowley hurries to correct, “I mean- you seem like a nice bloke or- nice- nice something- I… don’t really know what you are, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“My name is Aziraphale,” the shape- Aziraphale- supplies, “I’m a spirit, dear.”

“A… spirit. So you’re like…” Crowley waves an arm, “Like a ghost? Like- yanno. Dead.”

“Oh no, not like that at all!” Aziraphale says, smiling at him. Why is their smile so nice? Crowley can’t even make sense of the entirety of their body and yet he still finds their smile so comforting. Like sunshine. “I’ve always been exactly like this, dear. So no, I’ve never been human and I’ve never died.”

“Ah- right. ‘Course. Of course. Pardon my- uh. Mistake.”

Crowley runs his hands over the fabric of the jumper. It’s ridiculously soft and warm, too, as if straight out of the dryer. He can’t help but think that it’s perhaps laced with whatever sort of magic or energy Aziraphale has. It’s a silly thought; this entire evening feels like a dream or a movie, but what other choice does Crowley have but to go along with it? He takes a look around until his glance settles on the candles (all of them miraculously still standing just fine, not even one of them knocked over or blown out). As if sensing his thoughts before Crowley can voice them, Aziraphale snaps their fingers and the light in the room turns on while all the candles go out, a tiny trail of smoke coming from them. Crowley blinks, his eyes slowly adjusting to the sudden brightness. He can now take a better look at Aziraphale who, while they’re still see-through and no more than a smoky shape, is also more clear in the light than in the darkness. Their features stand out, surprisingly, and they look quite a lot like a kind, middle-aged man. Only, well. Floating, glowing, see-through, with a halo and far too many eyes. It suits them, though. In a weird way.

“Er- you. You look nice, too. Actually,” Crowley fumbles the compliment, rubbing the back of his neck. He sounds awkward as hell and yet, for whatever reason, Aziraphale seems genuinely pleased by his words.

“Oh, do you think so, dear? I’ve spent quite a long time working on this form. I happen to have a lot of free time, admittedly, and I thought… well, you know how it is. I thought it’d be nice to be prepared for when someone summons me- let me tell you, dear boy, you wouldn’t want to be visited by Gabriel-” they say the name with thinly veiled disdain. There’s a history there, for sure, “he never even tries, Gabriel, he just shows up, all circles and eyes and I know you humans aren’t quite used to such things. I’ve been watching your kind for a while! And reading, too. A lot of reading-”

They stop when Crowley holds up his hand.

“Oh- I apologize, I’ve been rambling, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, Aziraphale- it’s fine, it’s just… a lot. This. You said you’re a- a spirit, but I don’t exactly know anything else about your… kind. Or. Well. I didn’t even know anything like you /exists/.”

Needing to do something with his hands, Crowley begins to gather the candles while he talks. Aziraphale stands (floats?) next to him, watching him with a strangely curious look on their face.

“Yes, of course,” they say, quieter. They’re fiddling a bit, adjusting the sleeves and corners of their almost-clothes. The fabric slips through their fingers like smoke, as if they weren’t quite sure how to properly keep the form together, “I do not wish to overwhelm you, dear. It’s just-” they trail off and look at Crowley through their eyelashes. He looks over at them, all of the candles stashed in his arms.

“You don’t talk with-” he pauses, looking for the right word, “humans much, do you?”

“Not really, no,” they shake their head, following Crowley as he makes his way to the kitchen to put the candles away. “I- ah. I’ve always just watched. From afar.”

Crowley turns around and crosses his arms as he leans against the edge of the table. He raises an eyebrow at Aziraphale who’s currently floating in the doorway. “Okay, so. Let’s start from the beginning. How the hell did I summon you?”

“Why, it was the candles, of course,” they look far too smug as they say it and Crowley barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. He scratches at his jaw instead.

“Yeah, okay, but, like- what, that’s all it is? A circle of candles and then-” he gestures towards them, “one of you shows up? There’s gotta be something more to it.”

Aziraphale doesn’t respond at first. They float up and down, they fidget and the more Crowley looks at them, the more he thinks Aziraphale’s trying to figure out how to avoid the question.

“C’mon, man. What is it? Spill.”

“I… may have gotten a bit over excited. Perhaps. Maybe. Yes, it’s- quite possible I have,” they say, slowly, weighing each word. Crowley bites his tongue before anything dirty slips past his lips.

“...okay?”

“Alright, alright! It’s not just the candles, not really- there’s a ritual, you need to call out the name of the spirit, it’s all awfully complex, most humans don’t even know the extent of it, that’s why there’s so few summonings and I just- well, if you must know, I happened to be in the area-”

“Wait, so you were just- you just happened to be _in here_? No offense, but now you sound like a bloody stalker.”

“Oh no, dear, not quite like that,” Aziraphale hurries to explain, moving further into the kitchen. Some of their eyes seem to be scanning the room while the other ones are turned towards Crowley. Crowley feels a shiver run down his spine. “There’s powerful magic in fire. Even more so if it’s aligned correctly- that’s why the candles are so important. I could feel that magic and I simply assumed that, perhaps, someone was performing a summoning. I… may have overestimated. As I’m sure you’re already aware.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s not every day a guy needs a circle of candles for a dick pic,” Crowley mutters under his breath. With a sigh, he pushes himself away from the table and moves to grab a bottle of wine. “Well, are you gonna keep standing there?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you, like… sit? I mean, obviously you can… stand or- float, I suppose. So you should be able to sit down.”

“I’ve never needed to sit down.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything!” Crowley waves his arm and then returns to the bottle. He pours himself a glass and glances over his shoulder at where Aziraphale is suspiciously eyeing a chair. “Can you, uh. Drink?”

Aziraphale looks up at him and all of their eyes blink slowly, in unison. They’re genuinely taken aback by the question.

“Ok, right,” Crowley speaks before Aziraphale has the time to think of an answer, “you’ve never tried that either, have you? Well. What’s the worst that could happen?” he keeps talking as he pours the wine into another glass - much less than into his own glass, but enough for Aziraphale to take a proper sip.

When he turns back towards them, he’s pleased to see that they’ve finally settled in the chair. They’re stiff all over, all their almost-limbs pressed together, hands folded in their lap. Truly a picture of someone who has never been in a chair before and is at best trying to imitate how others do it. Crowley stifles a laugh, not wanting to make Aziraphale uncomfortable.

“There you go,” he slides the glass across the table and then settles in his own chair, like a polar opposite of the spirit. Where Aziraphale is tucked together and neat corners, Crowley’s sprawled out and long, relaxed curves.

“So I just…”

Aziraphale makes a vague gesture, imitating drinking without the glass in their hand. Crowley nods. “Yup. Just- try not to get it all over my floor if it, like- goes through you or something.”

Aziraphale squints at him (and isn’t _that_ a weird sight - all of their many eyes squinting at once, even when some of them aren’t even looking in his direction) and then makes a move towards the glass. Crowley tries not to stare, but fails immediately - it’s hard to take his eyes off something so otherworldly, especially when it seems to fit in so well with his regular, mundane flat and his regular, mundane belongings. The smoke-like fingers wrap around the glass and then Aziraphale lifts it slowly towards his face. Crowley tries to hide a smile behind his own glass while Aziraphale first sniffs at the wine, then peers into the glass curiously. Once they’re finished inspecting the liquid, they finally tilt the glass and take a careful sip. To Crowley’s genuine surprise, the wine doesn’t spill onto the chair or the floor - instead, it goes down Aziraphale’s throat (or rather, Crowley assumes it does - it doesn’t look like Aziraphale has actually swallowed, but the liquid is nowhere to be seen). Their eyes close for a moment and the gentle glow of their entire shape flickers brighter before dimming softly once more. They hum, the entire kitchen reverberating with it. Crowley inhales sharply, unable to look away.

“Oh, but that is simply… delectable,” they murmur, their eyes still closed. Crowley gulps down half his glass at once.

“Nyeh- so. You liked it. Good. That’s- good,” he croaks out.

Aziraphale breaks into a smile. Without opening their eyes, they move to take another sip, but quickly realize that the glass is already empty, the small amount Crowley had poured gone.

“Lemme- lemme get you a refill,” Crowley scrambles out of his chair to get the bottle and before long he’s standing next to Aziraphale and pouring them another glass, heftier this time than the previous one.

“Thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale blinks up at him. Crowley opens his mouth to say something, but his tongue is all in knots now and he can only nod and make vague noises in response. What a mess.

He settles down in his own chair then and once again fails at not staring at Aziraphale as the spirit takes a few more sips, oh-ing and ah-ing along the way. Crowley refuses to acknowledge the way the sight and sound of them enjoying themselves affects him. He slumps into the chair some more and silently waits for Aziraphale to come back to their senses. Or to finish their glass. Or perhaps both.

“You’ve been very kind to me- oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name, dear.”

Crowley’s too caught up on the first part of that sentence to fully register the rest of it. It’s only when he realizes that Aziraphale’s waiting for him to say something that his brain finally catches up with the question.

“Er- it’s- Crowley. My name. Crowley.”

Aziraphale acknowledges his response with a nod and a gentle smile. “What a lovely name.”

“Mhmm- ‘s just a name, nothing special,” Crowley shrugs, looking down into his own glass and trying to fight off a rather insistent blush. It doesn’t make it much easier when he looks up to see this warm look on Aziraphale’s face. Crowley shifts in his chair and looks away once more.

“Well, I think it’s lovely,” the spirit insists.

Crowley bites his lip. Each time Aziraphale compliments him it’s like an electric spark running under his skin. He needs to get himself together, for someone’s sake.

“So. Um. What do you do when you’re not- er- roaming around looking for someone to haunt?” he tries to make it a joke, but the words fall flat and judging by the look on Aziraphale’s face they hadn’t gotten it at all. Crowley swallows, scrambling to come up with an explanation. “Y’know- you’re a ghost- spirit- so you just… haunt people. Er. That was supposed to be a joke.”

Aziraphale’s still giving him that same look. Crowley suddenly wants to disappear.

“...nevermind. Back to what I was asking- you mentioned you have a lot of free time.”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale brightens up once more, all the confusion wiped off their face as soon as they can latch onto a conversation topic. It’s quite adorable, how eager they are to keep talking. “Yes. These days, most of us don’t have many duties on Earth to attend to. So I have a lot of time to explore. Learn about your kind. You’re terribly fascinating, my dear! You’ve all created so much and you’re always so eager to keep going forward, even in the face of adversity- to be perfectly frank with you, I admire your kind quite a bit. My, ah- other spirits are not nearly as curious as humans are. It’s… well, I think it’s rather boring, to never venture out. Which is why I’m here! Venturing, as they say.”

“And you’ve been… venturing… for how long?”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you, dear boy. Time’s very different for me. But, I suppose… in human years it would have to be over 6 thousand years, I’m quite sure.”

Crowley says nothing. He chugs the rest of his glass while desperately trying to process all the information. He’s currently chatting with a 6 thousand year old spirit. Who’s far more attractive than anyone with this many eyes and a translucent body should be. Is it gay to be attracted to a genderless spirit? Crowley files that question away from later. He already has enough on his mind, he’d rather not also ponder the state of his sexuality.

“I’ve been wondering,” Aziraphale speaks up while Crowley is still in the middle of drinking, “Why were you… well, you said you were trying to get good lighting on your… nuts. Why?”

Now, in the span of five seconds, Crowley has two choices - to try and swallow the wine and potentially choke right there and then (which would also allow him to retain his dignity) or to spit out all of it. He settles on the second, dignity be damned. It’s not like he’s had much of it left, after everything that’s happened tonight. And he’d like to live to see one more day, thank you very much.

“Um.” He stares at the wine that’s now on the kitchen floor. “Right. That.” He wipes his mouth slowly. “Er.” He chances a look at Aziraphale who looks both mildly concerned and yet amused at once. “Do you know what a dick pic is?”

“No. Are you quite alright, Crowley?”

“Yeah. Yup. Mhm- fine. Totally fine. Just- not quite prepared for a- uh- spirit- to be asking me… that.” Not quite prepared to be explaining to that spirit what a dick pic is, either, if he’s going to be completely honest. “Er. So. A dick pic is a picture of your... dick. That you can send to someone. If you want to. And if they want to see it.”

“Well. I suppose the name does speak for itself,” Aziraphale says, just a hint of sarcasm in their tone. Crowley raises an eyebrow at it and then gets up to reach for the paper towels. Before he can get to them, Aziraphale snaps their fingers and the wine disappears off the floor right in front of Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale gives him a bashful smile. “It was only fair for me to clean it up after how I’ve surprised you so many times tonight, dear.”

“Right. Thanks. So. Yeah. That’s… all there is to it, really. To a- dick pic, I mean. I couldn’t get the right lighting so I figured-” Crowley refills both of their glasses and then plops down in his chair. “I figured candles would work. They did, actually, but, er. I caught you in the pic so the guy freaked out once I sent it to him,” Crowley shrugs, leaning back once more.

“So I’m in your… dick pic.”

“Um. Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence as they both look at each other without saying anything. Crowley tries to read Aziraphale’s expression, but the spirit remains unreadable.

“I’m gonna… delete it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I- probably should.”

“If you insist, dear.”

“I do. Yeah. Anyway.”

They both let the conversation die down for a moment as they indulge in their drinks. Crowley’s desperately trying not to replay everything over and over again in his head, but it’s rather difficult- especially with Aziraphale still _right there_ and making those little noises and glows of happiness. At least the alcohol’s finally settling in more, letting Crowley relax to the point where he doesn’t even realize that he’s leaning in now, elbows on his knees and eyes roaming over the spirit’s shape. Aziraphale catches his gaze while their lips are still pressed to the rim of the glass.

“Crowley?” they murmur quietly, tipping their head.

“Mhm?” Crowley responds. His tongue, once more, feels far too heavy to form proper words. Aziraphale’s glow is enchanting, even more so as they suddenly lean in closer. Crowley tilts his head while Aziraphale gently plucks his glass out of his hand. Smoke-like fingers brush over his skin and he shivers, taken aback by how pleasant the sensation is.

“You’ve been so very nice to me,” Aziraphale starts. Crowley nearly keens at that four-letter word, the praise more than enough to make him lean in even closer. Aziraphale smiles, almost as if they had expected that reaction. “I’ve been thinking about- if I- could I-” they reach out towards him until they can cup his cheek. Crowley leans into the touch. It’s a strange feeling, like smoke and cold air and yet so very solid at once.

“Yes?” he prompts quietly.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, dear, may I… kiss you?”

Crowley blinks and, immediately, nods his consent. “Yeah,” he blurts out. “Please.”

Aziraphale brightens (quite literally) and then moves in, all of their eyes falling shut as they press their lips to Crowley’s. Crowley gasps softly, taken aback and eager all at once. It’s clumsy, the way Aziraphale presses into him, but Crowley finds it intoxicating nonetheless, the smoke licking into his mouth while plush, cold lips move against his own. He reaches with his own hand, but before he can quite touch them, they’re already pulling back. They seem pleased, a gentle glow to them and Crowley’s heart thuds far too loud in his chest as he blinks his eyes open. Aziraphale smiles, brushing Crowley’s cheek gently before pulling their hand away as well.

“I should go,” they say quietly.

“What? No, you don’t have to-”

“It’s not because of you, dear,” Aziraphale says and they sound sadder now, just a hint of it beneath that glow and that smile. “I- the others wouldn’t be happy, if they found out that I’ve been here. I- no summoning, either…” they trail off, their eyes flickering - from side to side, then up, searching for something that Crowley can’t possibly see. “I should go,” they repeat, another brief touch to Crowley’s cheek.

“I could summon you,” Crowley blurts out. What is he even thinking? That’s right, he’s not thinking at all at the moment, fascinated and entranced by Aziraphale’s magnetic energy. “If that would… help.”

Aziraphale pauses, a strange look passing over their face. It’s like they’re considering, calculating all the risks and all the possibilities. They stand up and Crowley follows them with his gaze. “It… would be rather clever, my dear. If you were to do that,” they say, slowly, enunciating every word.

And then, with no more warning, they’re gone. Crowley nearly falls off his chair as they disappear, no sign of them left, none except…

Crowley has to regain his composure and once he does, he takes a good look around his kitchen until he notices something on the table. He stands up to get closer to it and, as it turns out, it’s a book. A rather old tome, bound in leather and with a flaming sword engraved on the cover, yellowed pages sticking out of it. There’s a yellow post-it note, too, stuck to the top of it. Crowley swipes his fingers over the leather and picks up the note. On it, in perfect cursive, words:

_We’ll see each other again, dear._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr/twitter/instagram as smolalienbee!
> 
> You can reblog Sev's art [here](https://sevdrag.tumblr.com/post/637417701495783424/bless-smolalienbee-and-their-great-ghost-nudes)!


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